Not Entirely With Modest Means (Or Honourable Intentions)
by DaniellaPeirce
Summary: 'The bastard did not seem to realise that she was planning her escape, and Cat couldn't help that twinge of regret at the thought of head-butting such a pretty face. It was quite short-lived.' Cat meets a not-quite-stranger from her past, finds the new king to be a pompous prick, and thinks on her similar fate to her long-dead aunt.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, or any of the characters therein. I'm just playing with them for a little while._

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**_Not Entirely With Modest Means (Or With Any Honourable Intentions At All)_**

_Chapter 1: Not Quite Who You Think_

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_Howling ghosts – they reappear_  
_In mountains that are stacked with fear_  
_But you're a king and I'm a lionheart._  
_A lionheart._

* * *

They were searching for her avidly. A girl had only just snuck into the brothel in time to hide with Lanna in the back rooms as the soldiers garbed in gold rushed in.

"What is it they want with you, Cat?" the blonde girl asked softly.

Cat shook her head, the dark curls that now reached past her shoulders swaying at the movement. "I do not know," she lied easily. "They have been following me about all day!"

She thought back to the tall man with eyes that brought back memories that weren't hers, but belonged to a girl she once knew. What was that man doing _here_, of all places?

Lanna considered her friend's words, but kept quiet as golden knights strode past, her grass-green eyes following them as they trotted about like horses with purpose.

Cat held her breath as they did, and prayed to The Stranger that the men did not notice her. The black-haired man with the blue eyes had not accompanied them, and so they did not know exactly what Cat looked like; they did not pay her any mind as they brushed past her and back to where they'd came.

When all of them were gone, Cat snuck away from the blonde whore and followed the golden little shits that had tracked her from Pentos.

Perhaps a part of her wished to leave Baavos, to go to the place that Arya Stark was born. But Cat preferred it where she had a freedom to do as she wished, could duel a man to defend her _own_ honour; not have to have another man do it for her.

Cat shook her head, _When has that ever happened to me? I am an orphan of Braavos, The Cat of The Canals, First Sword of Braavos; nothing more and nothing less than that_. At least that was what she was telling herself as she was spotted by the black-haired man with the bull's helm from her youth.

"Arya?"

Cat froze behind the men as they turned to face her, the blade in her hand had been poised to strike; but he had ruined it. She slid it deftly back into its sheath.

His voice boomed now, and the name he called her by, she had not heard in nigh on five years. Give or take a year, Cat had never been very good with time.

"That is the Lady Arya?" one of the men questioned; a gruff old thing, with wrinkles covering his stern-looking face.

Cat bit back a retort that would have been second-nature to a girl named Arya Stark, and instead offered a polite smile. "_I do not speak_," she started in Braavosi, then paused as if thinking, "_Westerosi, is it_? _I cannot speak that tongue_."

The old man frowned. "_It is a name, little girl. Lady Arya, have you heard of her_?" he asked in the same tongue, voice rough from age.

Cat skipped backwards, a sly smile on her face. "_No, old man_," she answered lightly. "_I've not ever heard of a Lady by that name. But the Merling Queen is a lady, though Arya is not her name_."

The black-haired Bull made an impatient noise and stomped towards her. Cat did not so much as blink.

"You are Arya! You look just like her," he argued hotly, fingers pointing rudely at her. The old man eyed Cat once more, and she felt stupid for even considering following the bloody knights in the first place.

Cat made her face a confused mask, but hollered back at him, "_I do not know what you are saying, you black-haired shit!_"

The old man chuckled, before translating to her. "_The man says that you look just the same as the princess we are searching for_."

Cat's eyes widened, before changing back to the confused look of annoyance, a laugh working its way from her throat, husky and soft. "_That dolt thinks I am some sort of princess from wherever he comes from?_" she questioned, but kept her grey eyes on the Bull. "_I've never been anywhere but Braavos, old man. Though my father could've been a captain of some ship or another, I do not think he's some king_."

The Bull leaned forward to inspect her, and Cat found herself meeting his cerulean eyes. It was pride and her training that had her keeping her ground, not that little voice that said he was awfully pretty for a man. Those eyes were as blue as the seas by The Titan, though not as deep as the canals that lined Braavos.

Cat had forgotten how beautiful they were.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked her gruffly, hurt shining in those eyes of his. She almost felt bad.

Cat rolled her eyes. "_For the last time-_"

The old man cut in. "You told me that you had never been anywhere bar Braavos, correct?" he had asked it in the Common Tongue, and it meant only one thing.  
Cat stilled, and felt a peculiar fear run through her as cleanly as a blade would flesh. She would need to backtrack and fix her words rather quickly.

She kept her calm air about her though, and shrugged easily. "_I stowed away on a ship a few months back_," she answered. "_It took me to Pentos_," she met the Bull's eyes as she said her next words. "_I'm a whore, old man; if you hadn't already guessed. I was working there_."

The lies came easily to her, and Cat held her chin high. The old man's grey eyes lit up. "You understood me," he said testily.

Cat shrugged, then answered in broken Westerosi. "I would be, ah, a poor merchant if I did not."

"Then you lied when you told us that you did not understand," he turned to the black-haired dolt, and then back to Cat, a speculative gleam to his eyes. "You may even be Lady Arya Stark."

Cat glanced behind her; soldiers stood not too far, looking ready for a fight. "_I have told you before, old man. I am not that bloody person_!"

The black-haired shit leaned forward once more. "Who am I?" he asked her, steel to his tone.

Cat scoffed. "How am I to know what some black-haired bastard's name is?"

He did not move, only glared at her knowingly. He was never fooled; but how did he remember her at all? Cat glared back, but her tone of voice was softer. "How'd you get all the way over here, _Ser_?"

"Say my name," he requested, and Cat let out a laugh.

"You're making demands of me?" she asked, a haughty lit to her voice. "That will be the day." She flicked a stray lock of dirty, dark hair from her face and let out a sigh. "First, bastard, I want to know what it is you want with me. You could be Lannister men for all I know."

He flinched at the callousness in her tone, but responded as she wished quickly enough. "We are men of Queen Daenerys Stormborn and King Aegon Targaryen VI, _m'lady_. We are no lion scum."

Cat grinned. "The Little Queen has finally settled in Westeros then?"

The old man glanced between she and the Bastard Bull. "Lady Arya?" he asked.

Cat turned her nose up at that. "If you insist on me being Arya, then you must drop that godsdamned 'Lady' that is before it. I am no lady, ser." She wiped the sweat from her face. No matter how many years she spent in Braavos, Cat did not think she would ever get used to the heat of summer. "Where is Queen Daenerys?"

The old man shifted to rest his hand on the hilt of his blade. "My Lady," he began, ignoring the annoyed look that the girl gave him. "My name is Ser Jorah Mormont. Her Grace, Lady Daenerys, is docked in Pentos." He paused and nodded to the men. "She sent for us to collect you and return you to your House; your elder sister is believed to still live."

Cat snorted. "I am, or rather was, Arya of House Stark; that is true." Her slim fingers came to rest on the dagger at her hip. "But am not leaving my home to help some war that destroyed my old family. I have nothing for me there."

Ser Jorah looked perplexed. Cat shook her head vehemently. "The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. My father had it wrong; it seems that wherever more than one Stark goes, death follows. If I return to Westeros, what is left of my family will die. I am not leaving Braavos; it is my home now."

Ser Jorah gave her a grim glance before turning away from her and back to his men. "Then I am terribly sorry for this."

Cat stiffened and unsheathed both the dagger on her thigh and the one at her hip. "Pardon?" she asked sweetly. The black-haired shit was giving her a sad look.

That was when the old man gave the command to get Cat into their custody. Needless to say, it did not go quite as smoothly as the old knight had thought.

She had quickly slain two of his men, but her hand stilled when she brought the black-haired shit to his knees. Though, in truth, he did not lift a finger against her.

Cat wasn't sure if that pissed her off more.

As Ser Jorah drew his blade, Cat fled into the mass of Happy Port, not bothering to glance back as she melted fluidly into the crowd and slunk back to the darkness of the House of Black and White.

.

.

"Who are you?"

The same question, as it had been since she had cast away her old face, was asked that morn following.

Cat did not glance at the Kindly Old Man, did nothing but cock her head to the side.

"I was No One two moons ago," she answered silkily.

The Kindly Old Man pursed his mangled lips, not once believing her words. "And who are you _now_?" he stressed the last word, black eyes searching her face for any sign of change in her expression.

Cat did not give him any. " I am known as Cat of the Canals by most these days."

He made a disapproving sound at the back of his throat, but his face relaxed into a small smile. "Still such a terrible liar, Cat of the Canals." He turned from her and started down the staircase that had been her cocoon her first years here. "Your black-haired knight, the Dragon Queen's knight, and their men know you by the title, Lady Arya of House Stark. Go back to where you came from."

Cat's hands clenched by their own volition, and she grit her teeth. She did not retort, only stood still until the sound of the Kindly Old Man's footsteps faded, and the only thing she could hear were the droplets of water leaking from somewhere above and her own breaths.

That was his saying that she was no longer welcome, was it?

Cat let out a breath, then let out a frustrated sound. _Not if I am going to bring attention to the Faceless Men. I am not going to get shelter here_.

Cat wandered about Braavos the rest of the day. The heat of the day made her seek shade; that being a whorehouse she knew as well as her own chambers in The House of Black and White.

The one face that she did not want to see. Of course he would be here; this was where they'd last tracked her.

She would make a note to not be so repetitive next time.

He had yet to spot her, so Cat carried on milling through the other men and women in the brothel with silent grace. There was no sign of the others, but she kept a wary eye out for them despite that fact.

Looks could be deceiving; Cat of all people knew this.

Keeping her attention on the bastard-knight, Cat saw that a blonde whore had seated herself in his lap, and that-for the most part- he had taken to ignoring the poor girl.

It was Lanna, and the surge of feelings that came at the sight made Cat anxious.

Did the bastard know that Lanna knew her?

Why was Lanna servicing him?

But, above all: Why did Cat care at all?

Cat spun away from them, and sauntered over to a table._ Better to watch him from this angle_, a part of her whispered as she talked to the particularly handsome one to her right.

By the end of the hour, Cat had managed to wiggle her way into his lap, his sweaty hands resting easily on her hips and arse as she laughed at every little thing he said.

She felt stupid, but Lanna and the rest had taught her that it was the right thing to do; and it was working.

He grinned proudly whenever she did, and his hand would travel further down her abdomen. She kept a careful eye on just how far that hand went; she had blades hidden in quite a few places.

Cat had no intention of actually letting him fuck her, or doing anything else that was expected of a whore. No, she would sooner slit his throat; she was using this man as a ploy.

Two more of Ser Jorah's men had since marched in, and not once had they looked her way.

Cat rose, and the man did not seem to notice as a new whore-one with a shock of red hair-took her place. She was halfway up with steps when she felt a strong hand on her wrist, spinning her around.

Cat snarled, pulled the dagger from her hip and came very close to burying it in the bastard-knight's skull. "You!" she growled out.

The bastard wrestled the blade from her-it dropped from her hand with a clatter- and then managed to get her pressed up against the wall. He had his weight as an advantage, and he made sure to use it. "You," he whispered, and then a wry smile worked its way onto his face. "You are a very hard woman to find, _m'lady_."

Cat pulled a face; but whether it was at the use of the old moniker, or her anger at the situation, neither knew.

The bastard started speaking again. "But what are you doing in a brothel?"

Cat sneered up at him, and flexed against the hold he had on her elbows. His hands tightened in response. "I was leaving," Cat growled. "I do not even have to ask why you are here; that much is obvious."

A strange look passed over his face; it could have been jealousy or guilt, for it was gone too quick for her to interpret. The bastard sneered back after a beat.

They both went silent when the sound of woman's laughter and a man's throaty chuckle came closer.

After the trio had passed them in favour for the rooms upstairs, their argument started anew.

"I was looking for you, _highborn_." The bastard bit out, and it interested Cat that the word 'highborn' was spoken like a slur. Cat tested the movement of her legs. She wiggled it and when he made no move to correct her, she stilled and filed away this information.

"I told you yesterday, _bastard_," she said, keeping the same contempt in her tone as he. "That I do not want to join your little militia group. This fact has not changed overnight."

His face clouded for a moment in thought, then, in a low tone that sent shivers down her spine for a very different reason, said, "Gendry."

Cat gave him a bemused glare. "What?" she demanded.

"You always called me Gendry."

Cat let out a laugh. "That's not true," she argued lightly. "From what I can recall, I always called you _Stupid_."

A happier emotion flitted across his face then, and Cat felt like biting her tongue off.

"You did, didn't you?"

Cat let out an aggrieved sigh, and flexed her arms again; her own hands were clamped around his forearms, and she would be able to use that as leverage. The bastard did not seem to realise that she was planning her escape, and Cat couldn't help that twinge of regret at the thought of head-butting such a pretty face.

It was quite short-lived.

Smashing her head into his teeth, she manoeuvred her hips out from under his and used her grip on his arms to spin him around.

Cat only ducked once to pick up her dagger, but otherwise she was as quick as a shadowcat in her haste to leave that whorehouse.

It was only later that Cat realised that she still had his blood on her face, and she rubbed it off absently with the back of her sleeve without a second thought.

.

.

It was almost a moon later that Cat finally made a decision on the matter. And by that time, the lot of them were gone.

Cat wanted her sister back. The sweet-tempered red-maned elder sister that had harshly named her 'Arya Horseface' so many years before.

And it wasn't as if she would get any work as a whore; Cat was nothing compared to Lanna, even though they were very near the same age.

The whore's name and looks had caught Cat's interest; after all, how many blonde whores with green eyes were there, that were named for House Lannister this far east?

It brought many a different questions to Cat's tongue, most all of them centring around Tyrion Lannister.

With a sigh, Cat trotted off to the docks.

Cat drew upon a favour owed to her by Brusco, and was aboard a ship within a day of making her decision.

She had planned everything out, and everything was starting to fall into place.

Lanna would stay with her mother in a small inn in Pentos until Daenerys Stormborn sailed for Westeros. That would be when they would become useful. And necessary, if Cat was being honest with herself.

Cat sighed and traced an indentation on the railings of the _Maiden Fair_. If there was one thing that the destruction of her House had taught her, it was that things never happen for a reason; one had to help themselves. And by helping Lanna and the Sailor's Wife sail to Westeros, Cat was making a new ally in the process.

_Never do something for nothing_.

It wouldn't be an exceptionally long voyage, getting to Pentos. But it wouldn't be short, either.

Cat cast her eyes to the horizon as the sun set, and wondered if her family were looking at it in a similar light, or if at all.

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_D.P~ __**So I've been writing this since Monday, I think; and that of course, means that I've been neglecting my other fics just a little. I did say that I would update and so winter comes very soon, and I plan on that still. But, since this is what I've somehow placed on this site, could you pretty please review this for me?**_  
**_I'll only post the next chapter if I get at least three reviews. Steep I know._**


	2. You've My Most Gracious Thanks

_Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, or any of the characters therein. I'm just playing with them for a little while._

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**_Not Entirely With Modest Means (Or With Any Honourable Intentions At All)_**

_Chapter 2: You've My Gracious Thanks, Your Grace._

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So, this is _huge.  
_And it's also an update! :D  
A big thankyou to britnic77 ,shshshsharina ,willyisamazingx , GoDrinkPinesol624, yubima-chan, and the guests that reviewed. You are all awesome and if I had cookies that I could pass to you through the screen, you would all have one. But if you don't like cookies, I could give you pizza or a slurpie or something.

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_Picture, you're the queen of everything_  
_As far as the eye can see_  
_Under your command_  
_I will be your guardian_  
_When all is crumbling_  
_Steady your hand_. ~ The Fray- Never Say Never

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Two days after leaving the docks of Ragman's Harbour, Cat woke to the sound of the captain shouting about the mooring line. She glanced behind her where Lanna still slumbered, and her mother was pressed against the wooden walls, sleeping as well.

Slipping on her boots, Cat quickly gathered her things and rose to the deck.

Pentos was much larger than Braavos, and had not changed at all since her last visit.

Men still trading and fisher-wives still shouting. But there was something decidedly different, as if the people weren't as loud about it anymore.

Either that, or Cat was going deaf.

The former seem feasible. She had, after all, been slightly concussed when she had gotten away from the Bastard Knight. Getting knocks to the head could do all sorts of things.

Cat returned below deck to find Lanna already awake and rising with her mother.

Cat smiled at her friend. "We are here," she said quietly. "I'll show you to your inn shortly."

Lanna nodded, and helped the Sailor's Wife off the boat and onto the docks.

Cat thanked the captain of the _Maiden Fair_, and with her Needle, descended to the docks.

But no, upon further inspection of the traders and the knights in gold, Cat found that it was the threat of dragons that made the folk timid.

At least these Queensguard did not know her, and did not bother her with a second glance as she strode past them. It was Lanna and her mother that the men balked at with blatant interest, and Cat wished not to be spotted and recognised when her plan was still in its cusp.

A hush ran over the crowd as a screech sounded from the city yonder, and then chatter started in earnest. Cat cocked her head; according to the reactions of the public, the sound belonged to one of Daenerys Stormborn's dragons. Curious.

Curious because most everyone, even her precious goldenguards, cowered at the noise.

Fear commanded more respect than love did.

Cat lead the Sailor's Wife and Lanna to an inn within the city's walls, and handed her golden-haired friend a small bag of coin. "Here," she offered, holding out the money.

Lanna's green eyes widened. "Oh, no! That is yours, Cat. I cannot take it."

Cat rolled her own eyes to the ceiling of her companions' room and turned to Lanna's mother. "But you can," she said and forcibly placed it in the older woman's clutches. "To pay for what you may need. I'll be back within four days, I swear it."

The Sailor's Wife gave her daughter a glare, then turned to Cat and nodded. "Of course, sweetling. And we shall see you then."

But by then, Cat was already gone.

Cat pointedly ignored the few stares that she did get, and managed to get dangerously close to a house with a little red door.

But as soon as she caught sight of it, Cat ducked around a corner. A green monster was perched atop said house, screaming for the life of it.

Cat felt like cutting out its' throat. If such a feat be possible.

Cat stiffened, and her mouth pulled down as her fingers sought out the tiny rapier of her childhood. Someone was behind her.

The black-haired shit again. Cat almost groaned.

He grinned smugly, and Cat could see the mark of a scab from where she had connected. Cat smiled.

"I told you my mind would not be swayed overnight." She said, tone wary and eyes searching the other shadows.

He watched her nervously for a moment; slow he may be, but not as dim-witted as she recalled. "You came, even after the whole scuffle in Braavos." He paused and took a step closer.

Cat had a feeling that if she did not take that step back, it meant something entirely different to the situation at hand. So she did.

Cat nodded slowly, and backed away from him. "I came by my own volition. I am not one to submit to the whims and wishes of others, you should know that, bastard."

His armour made a scraping sound as he crossed his arms. He flicked his eyes from hers as he spoke. "Seems that way, m'lady."

Cat eyed him a moment, then pushed off the wall of the building she had been hiding against.

"Are you of Daenerys Stormborn's Queen's Guard?" The words were pure curiosity, and only after did she regret the level of interest she had shown in them.

The bastard frowned, clearly confused as to where that question had come from. Cat's only excuse was that the armour he wore was similar to that of Ser Jorah's.

"No, m'lady." At the flash of anger in her face, he smiled a little. "But I am a knight of King Aegon's army."

Cat scrunched up her face. "King _Aegon_? I thought that Rhaegar's son was murdered." She turned from him promptly, not waiting for an answer and started towards the little red door with two guards on either side.

Unsullied, if Cat recalled correctly. They were all under the command of Daenerys Targaryen.

He was beside her within seconds, quiet and disgruntled at her sudden leave. Cat cocked her head and stopped in the middle of the street, eyes cast skyward as she watched the jade beast. "Say, bastard," she started and she felt him tense at the name. "If you now belong to that pompous king, why are you following Daenerys Stormborn's orders?"

The black-haired shit was glaring at her, she could not only see it from the corner of her eye, but could quite nearly feel the heat and anger in his gaze. "Ask nicely," he said. "And I might just answer that question of yours, _m'lady_."

Cat turned sharply to him, a scowl marring her features. "I can call you whatever I wish, _stupid_. You're a bastard, are you not?"

She was not completely ready for him when his oversized paws warped around her arms, face much too close to her own. Cat tensed, but did not pull away as good sense argued she should do.

Thankfully, he did nothing but hold her in place. "You are cruel."

Cat tipped her head back and laughed. "I was cruel when we were younger, do you not recall?" she stood back, but his fingers tightened their hold. Cat's scowl returned. "Now unhand me, bastard. Trying to rape me in plain sight will get you nowhere."

The bastard did as bid hastily enough when she put it that way, and it brought a smile to her lips as she thought on the fact that of the men she had met; it was the bastards that took honour so seriously.

"And who is this?" a silky voice purred and Cat turned quickly away from him.

The queerest looking man she'd met stood there, garbed in outlandish armour and trinkets. Blue hair and a three-pronged mustachio made her instantly think him Tyroshi, though she could have easily been wrong.

He did not look much older than the bastard, Cat thought. He was awfully pretty.

The bastard spoke for her, and even had the gall to step before her to block her view of the newcomer. "A woman that Queen Daenerys wishes to see." There was an edge to the bastard's tone, sharp and full of purpose.

The other man made an appeasing sound, and with an arrogant smirk, said with a faint accent, "Ah, she has her whims, our Queen. Just so. You best go then."

The bastard nodded, mouth tight, and hauled Cat towards that damned door.

She may have dug her claws into any inch of skin that was bare for her to reach. He grimaced, and had the good sense to let her go.

"Seven fucking hells, Arya!"

Cat sniffed at the name. "I told you not to touch me." She gave him a sour look. "And do not call me that."

"What?" he practically spat. "Call you by your _name_?"

An alien emotion shot through her then, it roared its head and she spat back, "I have not been that little girl for four years, _bastard_! And even then, you would not address me so!"

Cat could see as he closed himself to her, where before she could read everything that shadowed his thoughts, now she barely was given flickers.

"As you wish, Lady Arya."

Cat's mood puckered, but she nodded as if this change pleased her. "Good."

The bastard nodded as well, eyes not once leaving hers. "Good," he echoed.

A cough and a gasp broke them from whatever had taken a hold of their wits, and they jumped apart.

Two silver-blonde individuals stood in the hallway, and Cat knew them to be Targaryens by the way the bastard at her side took the knee.

If she had been like her sister, Cat would have flushed at being caught arguing with a bastard. She would have flushed at being caught anywhere near a bastard at all, in fact.

But she was Cat, and Cat did not care. And since she had no practice, truly, in the arts of propriety; she simply bent a little and lowered her head.

The little woman's mouth bowed as she looked Cat over once before motioning the bastard to his feet. "This is her?" She asked, thoroughly unimpressed with the urchin-looking girl; covered in dirt and hair all tangled.

The bastard nodded tightly, nursing the little wounds Cat had left on his neck and jawline. "Yes, Your Grace."

The man-Aegon, if what the bastard said was true-at the Little Queen's side grinned in a bemused fashion. "She did that to you, Ser Waters?"

The bastard scowled, and Cat let out a laugh. "I split his lip a moon ago."

Aegon's violet eyes flicked to her and he motioned for them to enter the room they stood at the entrance to. "We were hoping to discuss a few matters with you, my lady."

Cat nodded slowly, and warily followed the man.

The Little Queen smiled warmly at a weathered knight, and Cat recognised him for Ser Jorah. The old man watched her the way one would watch viper. Cat gave him a toothy grin.

"Come, sit." Came Daenerys Stormborn's soft tone.

Cat turned her attention back to the Little Queen, mouth quirked downwards. "I would prefer to stand, Your Grace."

If she was affronted, she hid it well. "Very well," she said, and flicked her indigo eyes to her nephew. "Aegon, tell her of our arrangement."

The Targaryen king did not seem pleased with being ordered about like a whelp or servant. But with little more than a sigh, he began speaking. "Dorne has decided that they will only back us if I take Arianne Martell to wife," he told her, and sank into the pillowed bench opposite his aunt. "We will give your family the North as wardens, if you give us your word that you will aid us."

Cat gave him a dubious look, folding her arms over her chest and cocking her head. "But we are Kings in the North. Why would we agree to become anything less than that?"

The Little Queen's eyes flashed. "And give you half of our kingdom? One that our forefather conquered?" she let out a laugh. "I think not."

This will end with blood on their pretty, wooden floors

. Cat thought and cast her eyes around the room where the Queen's Guard stood with their hands on the pommel of their swords. _And most of it will be mine_.

It was times like this that Cat hated the stubbornness in herself. "The North belongs to Starks, it has been that way since The Firstmen. Give us the North as Kings, and we will remain loyal to the Crown."

Cat smiled sweetly. "If not, well, when winter comes, not even your dragons will save you and your precious army."

Aegon made a sound akin to a growl. "Or we could simply kill you and be done with it now."

Cat laughed, though the bastard at her side tensed. "If that were possible, you'd not have told me your arrangement." She glanced around the room once more and snuffed out that tiny nervousness that fluttered in her chest. "You also would not be able to hold the North if you destroyed what was left of House Stark. The Northmen would rebel."

Aegon's mouth puckered, and then an easy smile stretched across his face. "Point to you."

The Little Queen sighed and crossed her legs, the fine silk hiking up past her knees.

Sansa would have swooned.

Cat held up a hand to still the queen, and bit her lip. "House Stark will back your cause," she said. Daenerys Stormborn smiled happily, thinking that she had won. "But only if you give us rule of the lands above The Neck." Cat continued conversationally. "As Kings and Queens in the North. You have my word."

The Little Queen's reaction to that was decidedly less enthusiastic. "How dare you," she seethed. "You insolent little-!"

Cat smirked, entirely unfazed by the older woman's outburst. Aegon, on the other hand, flinched and in a quieter voice, "Aunt, surely there is no need for that?" he turned to one of the servants. "Perhaps you could acquire for Lady Arya some new clothes." Cat wondered what was wrong with her attire, and then remembered that she hadn't washed in a few days.

The Little Queen sniffed, and waved to one of her Dothraki handmaidens, muttering something in that tongue. Cat had very little practice with the harsh language.

The woman bowed lowly, then scampered over to Cat and began murmuring.

Daenerys Stormborn gestured down the hall with a careless flick of her wrist. "Follow Mi," she said. "She will find you suitable clothing."

Cat was tempted to give the Little Queen a scathing look, but refrained, and-with once quick glance to the bastard-stalked after the servant girl.

.

.

It wasn't so much a gown that the Little Queen had garbed Cat in. The front of the dress was much too short, and the leather riding pants that fit snugly to her legs were far from the dresses Sansa used to wear.

Cat's hair was brushed roughly and tied back into a braid that hung between her shoulder blades, and the bath that they had forced her into had washed away all the dirt from her face and hands.

She hated it.

At that moment, though, Cat was inspecting the gardens of Illyrio's Estate. Soft footed, she stalked though the rows of trees and exotic flowers quietly, and jumped a little when she heard a cough.

Cat spun around, teeth bared savagely. "It's unseemly to sneak upon people," she told the king. Aegon Targaryen smiled at her.

"I did cough to notify you of my presence," he retorted. "And I am the king."

Cat gave him a look and turned from him; continuing down the path into the garden proper.

Aegon let out a surprised laugh at her callousness and trotted after her.

He was starting to grate on her nerves quite a bit.

The questions he asked of Cat were profoundly personal, and the urge to hit him made her itch.

"Oh, for the love of everything right," she snapped finally. "Do shut up, _Your Grace_."

Aegon Targaryen stopped up short of the question he had been in the middle of asking; features taking on an offended look.

Cat did not give him a chance to reply before she was exceedingly close to his person, grey eyes flashing. "I will not answer you truthfully, Aegon Targaryen. Do not bother wasting your time to know of me." _I do not want to know of you_. Cat pulled back and blew a lock of hair that had escaped the braid. "It is foolish."

The king rose from his seat on the wooden bench, and though he wasn't as tall or wide as the bastard; he was still, at the very least, a foot taller than Cat.

Her gaze remained on his face until her head was tilted back and she was glaring up at him.

He leaned forward, and much to her chagrin, Cat took a step back. "Why?" he asked. "I find you quite interesting."

Cat grimaced. "Leave me be," she snapped and stalked away. Aegon followed her.

She stepped deftly up the large stone steps and into the house, and spotted Daenerys Stormborn sitting with the blue-haired Tyroshi from before.

Said man glanced over at Cat and grinned. "Ah, it's the woman my Queen wished to see."

Cat smiled back, more an imitation than a genuine one. "Indeed it is," she answered.

"One that I thought long since dead." Came a cynical tone from across the room. Cat cocked her head to the side as she took him in. Shaggy, blonde hair and garbed in red and gold clothes. Two different pairs of eyes, a mangled face, and a wine glass between his stunted hands. Despite missing some parts, The Imp looked much the same.

Mayhaps a little older.

Cat gave him a mocking bow. "Lord Tyrion Lannister. I had not thought to see you here." She paused and flicked her eyes up as she pretended to think. "Well," she debated to herself. "At least not quite so soon."

The dwarf's mismatched eyes flashed at that, mistrust shining perfectly through his calm façade. "I do hate riddles, girl."

Cat grinned wolfishly. "As do I, my lord."

Daenerys Stormborn watched them both with thinly veiled interest, and the dolt at Cat's side looked much like how she had once seen Grey Wind; very much confused.

"You know each other?" Aegon asked.

Cat gave him a bemused glance. "No, _Your Grace_. Did you not know that all perfect strangers greet each other in the same fashion?"

Aegon pulled a face, not at all offended by her words, more annoyed than anything else. It was Jon Connington who's hackles began to rise.

"You will not speak to your king in such a way, girl!"

Aegon gave his Hand a disgruntled look. "She meant no true offence, Jon. Leave her."

Jon Connington looked as if he'd just been slapped.

Cat may have smirked.

Daenerys Stormborn cleared her throat, a stern look overcoming her face. The men quickly shut up.

"We will be sailing for Westeros within the month," she commanded, her silver-gold hair shining prettily in the sunlight, looking every inch a queen. Daenerys turned to the Tyroshi at her side. "Spread the word amongst the ranks, Daario."

The Tyroshi bowed deeply to her before spinning on his heel and leaving.

Aegon uncrossed his arms and grinned at his aunt. "I suppose that we will have to be packing our things away for the trip, then."

Daenerys Stormborn nodded patiently, the way one would a child. It made Cat wonder if she wasn't the only one the brat-king annoyed. Her offhand remark, Cat thought, was never meant to offend. "To conquer that which you could not, nephew."

Aegon's violet eyes flashed with the first true anger Cat had seen in him. "You were not my second choice in partnership, aunt." He took a small step forward, and Daenerys stiffened, back straight and chin high. "I would have easily had Dorne's allegiance, had your dragons not _burned_ their prince alive."

Cat sensed that this had been a regular argument between the two before she had gotten here, and she judged by the way the Little Queen's fingers clenched into the arm of her chair, that it cost them both dearly for what the queen's children had done. And that the queen loathed the mention of her mistake.

Tyrion Lannister watched along with Cat; mismatched eyes guarded for the fight that would surely come.

Daenerys Stormborn rose slowly, mouth twisted unattractively. "How dare you!" She all but shouted at him. "I took you in and kept you fed and clothed when I did not have to; I gave you an entire army of Unsullied, Dothraaki and Freedmen to fight alongside your Blackfyre Knights!"

It was surprising just how quickly the situation had gone downhill.

The Imp gestured that Cat should join him off to the side from where the two Targaryens were arguing adamantly that they were right and the other was wrong.

The Imp's eyes glittered with mirth, and Cat cocked a brow. Tyrion rose up onto his tiptoes and Cat leaned down a little so that he could whisper to her. "They agreed not to argue the duration of your stay here. They tend to get quite rowdy; sometimes even the beasts outside mimic them." _They did not want to appear weak and divided_. He leaned away and observed the Targaryens again, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "And they were doing so very well."

Lord Connington seemed at a loss as of what to do, but settled for a look that said he was not pleased.

Illyrio Mopatis shuffled in then, and the silver-blonde duo broke apart when he began to speak. The fat man bowed as low as his middle would allow, and said, "I beg your pardon, Your Graces." He straightened and a queer sort of fear entered his eyes. "But I have received news that your whereabouts is known to the Usurper's heir, Your Grace."

Daenerys Stormborn's delicate face bloomed in anger. "Are you certain?" she asked in a dangerously quiet tone.

Cat eyed the Little Queen's reaction with detached interest, cocking her head much like the creatures she had styled herself after. Illyrio Mopatis nodded hastily, and Daenerys scowled.

"Then we shall have to land sooner than the end of this month." She observed, beautiful silver hair glinting in the scarce light of the afternoon.

Cat stepped forward, hands tangling in the not-quite-dress that adorned her body. "I can go seek Daario if you wish, Your Grace." She offered.

Daenerys Stormborn seemed to consider this, then nodded her ascent. "Very well, Lady Stark. But you must take Ser Waters to escort you." The Little Queen waved the bastard over with a dismissive flick of her hand. "Tell Daario Naharis and Grey Worm that we set sail the day after the morrow."

Cat had some idea of whom Grey Worm was-she had seen the Unsullied commander some time earlier-and Daario Naharis could not have wandered far.

Cat nodded and hid her distaste for being escorted gracefully.

Finding Daario Naharis and Grey Worm wasn't that trying of a task, but the fact that the Queen had the bastard escort her about Pentos-as if she were some little maiden from a tower-made Cat want to scream in annoyance.

But she did what she had set out to do, only now Cat had to tell Lanna and The Sailor's Wife of the change as well.

Cat also knew that it wasn't for her safety that she needed an escort. They did not want her running off, those Targaryens. They did not trust her nearly as much as they made it seem, but they needed her.

"The house is back that way, m'lady."

Cat did not bother answering him, and instead continued on her way back to the docks.

"M'lady Arya-"

Cat spun around, eyes flashing like pieces of steel. "Do _not_ call me that, bastard!"

He had the gall to smirk at her, though if she bothered to look closer into it, she would find that it had been done so without mirth. "Which, _m'lady_ Arya?"

Cat grit her teeth, very nearly biting her tongue. "In fact," she mused, forcing a calm air about her and ignoring his jab, "do not speak to me at all."

The bastard sighed, but did not speak as Cat lead them to the little inn by the docks. She strode through the doors and slipped up the stairs, but not before telling the black-haired shit to stay and wait for her.

He had protested of course, but Cat had ignored his indignant complaints.

"Cat!" Lanna's tone conveyed surprise and mild joy, green eyes smiling. The room was smoky and dark, the only light coming from the small wax candle on the table by the corner, with the sun having gone down nearly a hour or so before. The Sailor's Wife sat upon the rough cot, a mug of what looked like wine between her fingers, her dark hair falling across her face.

Cat offered the blonde woman a ghost of a smile. "Hullo, Lanna."

Lanna paused, taking in Cat's tone; and though the young whore knew of what Cat was, she did not know the full extent of how her training affected the way in which Cat acted. Lanna flicked her eyes over to her mother, then back to Cat. "Are we leaving?" she asked tentatively.

At her daughter's words, The Sailor's Wife glanced up from her thoughts. Cat let her gaze wander to the woman. "Yes," she answered. "Within the next three days."

The Sailor's Wife frowned, a thin line forming between her brows. "Why did you bring us with you, Cat of the Canals?"

Cat cocked her head to the side, eyes sharp. "I will not deny that I brought you here for a purpose, Sailor's Wife. But until it is needed, it would do you no good to know of it."

The Sailor's Wife's mouth parted in an almost-sneer, but she let the topic of conversation drop. Lanna watched, and though she played at not knowing the threat behind the words, Cat could see how her Lannister-green eyes sharpened ever so slightly, how her bow mouth twitched downwards in a scowl.

But, just like that, the expression she bore dissipated into an awkward smile. "So you will come for us when we are to leave?" she asked, hands fisting in the material of her dress.

A knock at the door interrupted Cat, and she turned to glare at the offending object. Lanna glided over to the door, and Cat could make out the familiar form of the bastard beyond.

A snarl marred her face. "I thought I told you to wait for me?"  
The bastard did not move from the doorway, but Cat moved to him, dagger in her hand. "I am quite certain you heard me," she said. "Yes, you did. You were there."

To his credit, the bastard did not flinch from her as the steel dagger scraped up his armour and to his neck slowly as she spoke. He eyed the two women behind her, then settled his cerulean eyes on Cat's face. "They will be worrying, m'lady."

Cat growled a yanked herself away from him. "You trust foolishly," she threw at him. "But you are correct." Cat nodded to Lanna. "I will return on the morrow, until then."

Lanna smiled warmly, teeth flashing in a slightly crooked smile. "Until then," she echoed. "Farewell Cat."

Cat turned and pushed past the bastard, heels clicking against the wood of the stairs as she left.

.

.

Cat huffed as she lay back on the bench, eyes searching the skies.

Keeping Lanna and her mother hidden was harder than she originally planned. The bastard walking in and then asking who they were was not making the task any easier.

Cat breathed in the salty taste of coastal air and crossed her legs at the ankles. She was certain that they were who she thought they were, and if the two weren't… all of Cat's plans would be left in disarray.

Cat froze when she heard footsteps along the path, and sat up; drawing her legs to her chest.

His hair was still visible even with the moon blanketed by clouds, and Cat could make out the frown on his pale face. "Lady Arya? What are you doing out here so late?"  
Cat pulled a face at her old name, but shrugged in answer. "It is the hour of the wolf, and I could not sleep. It is easier to think out here."

Aegon Targaryen took her answer for an invitation to seat himself on the bench beside her, and Cat could not find the energy to correct him.

"What are _you_ doing out here, Your Grace? You do not even have _guards_ with you."

She knew that he could hear the mocking in her tone, and it surprised her when he laughed. "I could not sleep either, my Lady." He sighed after a moment, and ran a hand through his silver-blonde hair. "And it is easier to think out here."

Cat eyed him, but said nothing. His posture was that of a man who had lost a fight of some sort, and she wanted to know why.

Aegon turned his face to her, purple eyes looking black in the night. "Aren't you going to ask what it is?"  
Cat snorted, defensiveness making her tense. "You think awfully high of yourself."

Aegon chuckled. "I am King."

Cat's grey eyes narrowed. "You are _a_ king, Aegon Targaryen."

Aegon's smile was alabaster in the night. "But still king." Cat pulled a face, and stretched her legs out as Aegon yawned. "Though you do not much treat me like one."

"You do not much act like one," she retorted quick as a snake.

Aegon chuckled, but tapered off quickly and they fell into silence.

Cat watched him carefully from the corner of her eye, watched as he rose to his feet and offered her his arm. "I'll walk you back to your chambers, my Lady."

Cat rolled her eyes as she came to her feet, ignoring the arm he held out. "You have my _most_ _gracious_ thanks, Your Grace." She muttered as she walked on ahead of him.

Aegon grinned boyishly in return, and she heard him jog to catch up.

They retreated to their rooms in companionable silence, though Cat could hear the rush of the ocean and the roars of the dragons' breaths somewhere within the city.

Cat dreamt of ice, of Westeros, that night; the first time in years. She dreamt of ice and Direwolves and cities made of mountains with maidens kissed by fire in their peaks.

* * *

_D.P~__**So, since I put so much effort into this, could you give me a little feedback? It would mean the world to me. Ridiculously so.**_ **_Button is there, people._**


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